


Vandalism Is Just A Crime

by littleboxesofstars



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: (but in a cute way), Kissing in the Rain, M/M, Tumblr Prompt, Vandalism, ft. random maine hillbillies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 00:30:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20715110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleboxesofstars/pseuds/littleboxesofstars
Summary: Stan and Richie have a yearly tradition of spray painting a cute message on the side of Mike's barn to surprise him on his birthday. One year, nearly ten years later, they meet up to do it again... Except Mike forgot to tell them that he'd sold the land, and the new owners might not like the messages quite as much as he did.





	Vandalism Is Just A Crime

**Author's Note:**

> For the tumblr user that requested "There’s people chasing us and I pulled you into the alley with me and wow you’re close" + "Kissing in the rain and getting soaked before running inside laughing" with stozier! Also posted to my tumblr @trash-the-tozier

“We are way too old to be doing this!” Stan hissed, his voice a little louder than he probably meant it to be as he and Richie ran together down the dark street. 

“Age is just a number, Stanley!” Richie exclaimed back. And yeah, Stan was definitely right and this was definitely one of the dumber things Richie had done since entering his late twenties, but damn if he wasn’t having fun. 

“Sure, and vandalism is just a crime!” Stan retorted, Richie barking out a loud laugh. The strongly chemical smell of spray paint mingled heavily in the air between them; they both had flecks of it staining their clothes, and Richie knew he was bound to have some in his hair. It had been a while since either of them had used spray paint, and they were out of practice, making a mess. 

Every year, starting on Mike’s sixteenth birthday, Stan and Richie would creep out to the barn on Mike’s family’s farm in the middle of the night and spray paint something on the barn wall, something that Mike would be able to see out his window first thing the next morning when he woke up. It started out as a joke suggestion from Stan, becoming much less of a joke when Richie had shown up at Stan’s house at midnight with cans of spray paint and a mischievous grin on his face. The Hanlons repainted the barn every year anyway, so no permanent damage was done, and it had always made Mike laugh. 

As they’d gotten older, the tradition had been harder to keep up. They drifted around as they moved away, first for college and then for jobs, but Richie and Stan always made sure to meet up once a year for it, flying into Maine, stopping at the first shop that sold spray paint and sneaking onto the Hanlon farm. 

A couple of years back, Stan had spent a year abroad. Richie hadn’t wanted to go alone, and Stan wasn’t able to fly back from Spain for just one night, so they’d missed it. After that, the tradition had been dropped. The Losers still all met up a couple times a year, but it just wasn’t the same. Whenever spring rolled around and Mike’s birthday came closer, there was a tug in Richie’s chest, the ache of missing Stan--an ache that grew more and more persistent every time they met up, until it became a permanent, _ wanting _sort of feeling--so this year, Richie had finally acted on it and called him up.

Miraculously, Stan had agreed to come.

Not so miraculously, Mike had oh-so-conveniently forgotten to tell them that he’d actually sold the farm a couple of years ago, deeming the information unimportant since the spray painting was something that he assumed Richie and Stan wouldn’t do anymore. And the new owners didn’t think that _ LOVE U MIKEY _written in huge, clumsy, multicolored lettering was quite as charming as Mike had. So they were being chased through the streets of Derry by a small group of Maine hillbillies, one of which Richie was about sixty percent sure had a shotgun.

“We just have to lose them!” Richie said. God, he was out of shape, his breath beginning to come in short, painful gasps. There had been four pursuers at first, but they only had two left--Hillbilly A in a sleeveless denim jacket, and Hillbilly B, in a beat-up red ball cap.

“How the hell are we supposed to do that?” Stan grabbed Richie by the wrist, tugging him around a corner and down a small side street. “We don’t live here anymore; they know this town better than us!” 

An elated laugh rose up in Richie’s chest at the sheer ridiculousness of it all, and when Stan didn’t let his wrist go, Richie twisted his hand so that they were palm to palm, lacing their fingers together. 

It felt like a small victory, but Stan’s hand was only in his for a moment, Stan letting go in favor of grabbing Richie by the shirt, turning into a tiny alley, and fully slamming Richie into the brick wall behind, pressing close to hide out of sight. Red Ball Cap ran right past them but Stan didn’t move, holding still with ears pricked for Denim Jacket. Richie, however, was completely distracted. 

Richie hadn’t been this close to Stan in… Had he ever? Stan was stunning up close, that much was easy to see, despite their only light coming from the streetlights; heavy clouds had covered the moon all night. He had a sprinkle of light brown freckles across his face, his hair falling down onto his forehead in honeyed curls, the pink bow of his lips open slightly to breathe after their run, the hollow of his throat slick with sweat. 

“I think they’re gone.” Stan murmured. He still hadn’t stepped back; he still hadn’t let go of Richie’s shirt, his fingers barely gripping at the fabric, more pressed against his chest than anything else. “This was such a disaster. It actually could not have gone worse.” 

Richie let out a little laugh, trying to roundhouse-kick his brain back into action. “I tend to have that effect on things.” He said, and Stan laughed a little too. Then, on cue, the clouds that had been hanging over them all night broke open, and it began to rain. 

“Oh, damn it!” Stan exclaimed, taking a proper step back to push his hair out of his face. The action seemed to happen in slow motion, Richie watching Stan’s fingers card through his hair, his chin tilted back and throat exposed, Richie’s next words coming out of his mouth before he could stop them. 

“Stan, you are the most gorgeous person in the world.” 

Maybe it was how genuine he felt about the statement, but Richie was surprised when Stan began to laugh. 

“Stan.” Richie put a hand on Stan’s shoulder, his stomach twisting a little when he saw Stan’s smile fade. 

“Stop making fun of me, Richie.” 

“I’m not.”

“I’m all sweaty.”

“I know.”

“I’m annoyed.” 

“I know.”

“I’m getting fucking rained on right now, you don’t think--”

“Stan.” Richie, in this moment, felt very much like he was explaining to Stan that water was, in fact, wet. “I know, and I’m being serious.” 

Stan looked back at him, searching his eyes for a moment. Then a smile began on his lips, just barely, and in one fluid motion Stan pushed Richie again into the wall of the building, leaned in close, and kissed him. 

Stan didn’t even have the chance to begin pulling away before Richie kissed him back, his hands falling to Stan’s hips to tug him closer. The rain only started falling harder, their breath warm on cold cheeks. Stan had him fully pinned against the rough brick wall, something about it making Richie feel completely pliant against him in the best way. When Stan shivered against him, and Richie knew it was from the weather and not the hand he’d slipped under Stan’s shirt, he pulled back. 

“We should get out of the rain.” He said, and Stan took a step away, looking over him and bursting into laughter. They were soaked to the bone, in the middle of the night, the ridiculousness of the situation enough to keep them laughing all the way to the Derry Townhouse where they were staying, hand in hand as they ran.

Stan slipped into the bathroom first.

“It’s probably a good thing is was raining.” He said, the bathroom door open a crack. 

“Yeah?” Richie asked, pulling off his soaking shoes to leave them by the door. “Why’s that?” 

“If it wasn’t, I’d definitely still have you pushed against that wall right now.” Stan said, and Richie didn’t know how to react further than standing there, dumbstruck. They were flirting now. Okay. Time to readjust his expectations. “Wow, I’m freezing.”

“I could warm you up, if you want.” 

“Oh, really? I was going to just get in the shower.” As Stan said this the shower started up, and a moment later Stan stuck his head out the bathroom door, already undressed down to his underwear, a small smile on his face. “But you can join me, if you want.”

Richie couldn’t pull his clothes off fast enough.


End file.
